


Hours

by brightly_lit



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Past, Gen, Home Life, Homelessness, Past Relationship(s), School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightly_lit/pseuds/brightly_lit
Summary: Everyone's always in such a rush here in Tokyo, where Natsume lives with his salaryman uncle and socialite aunt who reluctantly took him in.  His life is terribly busy, yet terribly empty, and terribly lonely.  If only there were some place he could find that was peaceful, a place where he belonged.





	Hours

It was so busy here in Tokyo. At this school, with its required after-school extracurriculars, Natsume never got home before twilight, except in high summer. Not that he was eager to get back to the house of his salaryman uncle and his socialite wife, who were also always so busy. Most nights, they were out at parties or out to dinner, leaving him to make dinner for himself, but there was frequently nothing to speak of in the fridge and he had no money. He would scrounge up what he could, make dinner, do his homework, clean up a bit, and go to bed. He only saw them once or twice a week, and that was how they liked it.

It was a strange life, rushing rushing rushing to get up, get dressed and ready, get to the train on time to commute to school, rushing all day through classes at this very competitive middle school, where class ranking was considered so important among all the students that nobody wanted anything to do with you if you scored in the bottom ten percent on an exam, which despite his best efforts, Natsume frequently did. It was a much harder school than the one he’d gone to previously--he hadn’t been taught enough to even understand most of what they were now learning--but also, as hard as he tried not to succomb under the weight of being passed around so many schools and families and places, the emotional toll it had always taken was now also starting to take a toll on his schoolwork. His uncle had worked hard to get him into this school, and he made sure Natsume knew how disappointed he continually was in his performance. 

Strange, that he was always rushing everywhere, and so much was expected of him, yet almost no one ever talked to him. Everything seemed to depend on his grades, yet he was lost in the shuffle here. When teachers talked to him about his schoolwork, they often fumbled, having to look through records to remind themselves who he was, and still never coming up with much except that he should try to do better. Students didn’t even know his name. Aside from dutifully responding as required when called upon, he often went a full day without exchanging a word with anyone ....

... Except the occasional yokai teasing and tormenting him. He fought back, he ignored them, he pretended he couldn’t see them, he tried turning the tables and chasing them instead, but no matter what, they always found him and always persecuted him, chasing him to and from school, lying in wait just outside the doors to scare him and make him embarrass himself, shouting in fright, in front of his classmates who, rather than learning his name, simply started referring to him as “weirdo.”

He was always rushing, always running, always trying, always failing. Racing past the factories on his way to school, crossing railroad tracks at the last second before the train arrived, when the barriers were already descending, hoping to lose his yokai pursuers that way, hearing shouts of outraged or concerned pedestrians behind him for taking such a dangerous risk, his life began to seem like a neverending nightmare, failure upon failure. He did everything he could think of to make his presence less offensive, but his uncle and aunt liked him less and less, until the night he arrived home and for once they were there, waiting for him, but there was no dinner on the table. He offered to make dinner for everyone when his uncle sternly informed him that they needed to talk. 

He told Natsume he was too much trouble, no longer welcome in their home, and that he needed to leave, that instant. “But--but, I’m only thirteen!” Natsume protested, the closest he’d ever come to talking back to them. “I don’t have anywhere to go!”

“You’ll have to go live with the yokai,” his aunt said meanly.

“They’ll eat me!” Natsume cried, tears beginning to pour down his cheeks. “I can’t live with them! They hate me!”

“You should have thought of that before you befriended them,” his uncle said coldly.

“No!” Natsume begged. “No, please! Please, I’ll do anything! Just tell me what to do to let me stay! Anything you want, I’ll do it, please, please, just tell me what it is!” He broke down sobbing wretchedly, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Soon he was in the cold, dark forest, surrounded by grinning yokai, about to pounce and take him down, and he almost welcomed death, because what hurt the most was his heart, breaking, from being rejected by yet another family, unable to make his presence even a little bit tolerable despite all his efforts. How was it possible, that no matter what he did or how hard he tried, he could not eke out the tiniest bit of warmth or caring from any one of the families who took him in? Was he that bad? Yes, he was weird. Yes, he reacted to invisible things. He made trouble, as hard as he tried not to, but other boys made trouble, too--lots of it, some of them--and they had a home where they were welcome and someone loved them. Why? Why was he so unlovable? 

Yet if it was so, if he only brought pain and trouble to everyone he ever knew, if there would never be a place he belonged, where he could find any peace from the constant persecution and terror and horror of his existence, it would be better if he simply ceased to exist. No one would even notice he was gone.

His heart ached intolerably. It felt like something was digging at it, tearing at it--the yokai, surely, starting there--only, no, it was more like there was something poking at it, nuzzling at it--

He wakes to find Nyanko-sensei burrowing into his arms there where Natsume lay in bed clutching himself, white-knuckled. Sensei manages at last to snuggle in there next to his chest, making that sound that’s almost like purring. 

Sensei isn’t a snuggler. Natsume peers at him in the darkness suspiciously. Had Sensei seen that he was having a nightmare and done this to comfort him? He would deny it to the death if asked, but though he pretends to be asleep, Natsume is pretty sure that’s what happened. He smiles.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Sensei if he’s really asleep, he raises his hand to his face and realizes there’s wetness there. He wipes his eyes and looks at the clock, coming back to himself, to the still night in Touko and Shigeru’s house, as the rush and fear and even the heart-tearing pain of the dream begin to recede. 

It’s not quite four a.m. He still has hours before he has to wake up and get ready, have breakfast with Touko and Shigeru, and walk to school. No--he still has hours before he _gets_ to have breakfast with Touko and Shigeru. Hours before he gets to walk to school in the cool country morning, mist rising from the rice fields, pink clouds giving way to clear golden light. 

He might encounter some people from this tiny village where he now lives and stop to exchange a few friendly words on the way ... because there’s no rush here. Just peace, leisurely getting from place to place, everyone going about their business in a relaxed way. He might see some yokai he’s acquainted with and exchange a few words with them, as well. He’ll certainly see his friends somewhere along the path, and they’ll shout his name and run to catch up with him, or he with them, and then the peaceful morning will seem a lot livelier as they all talk animatedly about school and friends and plans they’re making together. 

It’ll be hours before he’s sitting in class with the people who know he’s a little weird and don’t seem to mind, before the fatherly teacher calls on him by name, before the class rankings get posted and no one much cares. Hours before school’s out and he gets to spend time with his friends. Hours before Touko welcomes him home, joy at his presence plain in her voice. Hours before he’s sitting down to dinner with Touko and Shigeru, delicious and warm and plentiful, like their precious kindness.

Natsume breathes in the still, dark night, silent except for Sensei’s quiet humming, the relief at the nightmare turning out to be only a dream making simply being here right now in this spacious room all the sweeter, but it’s always so sweet. This life here in the country, this place where he finally found some peace, peace enough to begin to try to understand everything that happened to him before, peace enough to begin to heal ... the people he knows here are happy and they like this town, but they think of it as just a simple country town like any other. Natsume doubts anyone could ever understand how he feels about it. 

The beautiful fields and forests and bridges, no smog, no heavy traffic, no glaring street lights, the night so dark you can see every star, the seasons changing one to another, are so glorious, he has to control his emotions when it strikes him anew lest people think he’s even weirder, crying over the simple joy of getting to be here, of getting to live in this simple country town. Of _having_ a home, a family, friends, a daily, a weekly, a yearly routine. 

Natsume rolls over, taking Sensei with him--who begins to protest rudely before remembering he’s pretending to be asleep and going back to humming/snoring. It’s four-thirty now. Natsume hugs Sensei tight and grins to himself. Hours before he gets to get up and start another day. He can hardly wait.


End file.
